


Magic Mirror

by evilsami



Series: 30 Day Writing Challenge [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Castiel Has a Cat, Everyone Is Alive, Implied Blood Sacrifice/ Blood Magic, M/M, Magic Mirrors, Masturbation, Minor Injuries, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 07:33:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7092367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilsami/pseuds/evilsami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel buys a mirror in an Antiques shop on a Saturday afternoon.  This was not what he was expecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Day 2 of my 30-Day Writing Challenge (with no internet because obvs).
> 
> Originally written for the prompt:
> 
> “Yeah, your mirror is a doorway into my dimension and I’ve seen everything. Even that dance part for one” au
> 
> This happened instead.

Castiel Novak lives in a one-bedroom apartment by himself. He has a cat named Margaret, so he’s not technically alone, no matter what his brother or sister say. And he’s happy. He’s got a few part-time jobs, each of which he enjoys, and a few hobbies to keep him busy. He’s happy.

He’s content?

He is. 

Mostly.

So what if he’s single and celibate (and a little bit frustrated)? It happens. It doesn’t mean there’s something lacking from his life.

That’s what he tells his siblings. They don’t buy it; they know how much of a closet romantic he is. They also know how messed up he’d been after his last (few, consecutive) relationship(s) had ended up.

Castiel refuses to be reduced to his relationship status.

So he has his hobbies.

On Tuesday and Thursday evenings, he spends his time doing pro-bono bookkeeping for the community center. Wednesday and Friday evenings are spent at the local SPCA chapter, mostly feeding kittens and playing with kittens and changing litterboxes and allowing other people to play with the kittens.

The rest of his week is a whirlwind of work hours and take-home projects, with the exception of Saturdays and Sundays. Sundays he spends with his family, attending Mass in the evenings. Saturdays he spends alone.

Usually he’ll visit the flea market, or the library, or the park. So when he decides to browse through an Antique store down the street from his favorite Starbucks (they know his name and favorite drink, the overpriced coffee is worth it), he doesn’t expect anything… out of the ordinary.

So, of course, the universe has to prove him wrong.

He buys a mirror. It’s large, tall enough to accommodate Castiel’s nearly six-foot build, with a dark, wooden frame. It is somewhat heavy, so the shopkeeper agrees to have her son and husband drop it off at his house that evening in their truck. He thanks her sincerely before leaving with his receipt and the cell phone number of one John Winchester.

The rest of his afternoon is uneventful. John and Sam arrive, as promised, at six o’clock that evening bearing his mirror in a large, oversized black pick-up truck. The men are tall and strong, and they transport the thing with startling ease. The son is very handsome, and Castiel will admit to being somewhat disappointed to learn how young he actually is. Sam is charming, if a bit awkward. Once he finishes growing, Castiel bets that he will be stupendously attractive.

Ah, well.

The Winchesters depart soon after they arrive, leaving Castiel alone in his home with his furniture and his cat.

Or, not his cat, because upon further inspection, Castiel cannot find her anywhere. He opens his door, intent upon looking around the block for her, when he almost trips on her furry body, nestled against the front stoop. She meows plaintively at him, and he’s struck with such a sudden surge of relief at having not lost her that he almost sinks to his knees then and there.

As it is, he scoops her up and carries her inside to her food dish, admonishing her the whole way.

Castiel spends the rest of the evening curled up with Margaret in front of the TV, eating a hastily put together meal and watching cartoon movies on Netflix.

When Castiel awakes the next morning, he does so feeling well-rested and ready for the day ahead. He showers, relieves himself, and then sets about shaving. As he’s running the razor under the groove of his jaw, his hand slips and he nicks himself. He notes absently the thin line of blood that wells up and runs down his neck, concentrating on not cutting himself again.

And then he hears the humming.

It doesn’t sound far enough away to be his neighbor’s shower singing, and the voice is too melodious for that man, anyway. He pauses, sets the razor down and casts his eyes about for a weapon he can use to go confront whoever has entered his home. He grabs the hairbrush, being the only thing nearby with any substance, and cracks open his bathroom door, searching for his unwanted guest.

He doesn’t see anyone, at first, though he can tell the other person is close by. It isn’t until the humming turns to singing that he recognizes the ACDC lyrics, and he cranes his head far enough into the room to see the man singing.

Castiel is… perturbed.

The man is standing in his mirror, hips swaying and thrusting, long legs and shapely ass encased in tight denim. He’s got short hair somewhere between brown and blonde, broad, muscled shoulders and a sculpted back.

There’s a stranger standing half-naked in his mirror, dancing like a fool to a very nice rendition of ‘Back in Black’.

Something is seriously wrong here.

He can still see a faint outline of himself, as he gets closer to the mirror, half-shaved face and a towel slung around his waist. The stranger doesn’t seem to see his approach, so perhaps the effect is only one-sided. He isn’t sure how he feels about spying on this handsome stranger, but he is reluctant to tear his eyes away.

Castiel tells himself that he is probably hallucinating, so it doesn’t really make sense not to look his fill.

As the song comes to its final verse, the man’s thrusting and undulating becomes even more pronounced and ridiculous, the added flailing of his arms making Castiel smile to himself.

“Dean!” someone shouts, laughing. The stranger jerks, and the image fogs until Castiel is left standing in his room, staring at himself in his brand new, perfectly ordinary looking mirror.

He is distracted for the rest of the day.

If Castiel had bothered to tell anyone (or thought he could’ve told anyone without being thought insane) about his morning experience, it might’ve been understood why he was having so much trouble concentrating. As it is, Anna is concerned, Gabriel bemused, and the rest of their family simply views this as another of Castiel’s ‘moods’ which is to be seen as a mild inconvenience and nothing of import.

And still, Castiel can’t stop thinking of the man in the mirror. Dean.

He thinks about him that night as he gets dressed for bed in his bathroom, and the next morning as he gets ready for work, casting demure glances into his mirror every so often, hoping to see someone looking back at him. This pattern continues for the rest of the week, every morning and every night.

He has a breakthrough on Tuesday night, nine days since the man had appeared—long enough for Castiel to mostly convince himself that what he’d seen hadn’t been real. He comes home with a sheaf of papers from the community center, bound with two paperclips and highlighted in three different colors. There are two script options to choose from for the kids’ play this year, and Castiel has been put in charge of deciding which story will be performed. He’s honored, of course, to be put in charge of something so important. (He’s also glad for the distraction.)

Castiel settles onto his big, plush mattress, Margaret at his feet, as he goes through the storylines, making notes in the pad by his leg. He’s about half-way through with the first script when he catches his finger on the edge of one of the papers. He sucks the finger into his mouth, but not before a small drop of blood slides down his wrist and stains the cuff of his shirt. He’s getting up to get a bandage (and change his shirt) when a soft grunting stops him.

Heart pounding, Castiel turns toward the mirror.

Dean is lying in bed this time, completely naked, hand wrapped around his hard cock, and stroking himself with absolutely no shame. Castiel feels his mouth drop, can almost see it in the bare hint of his reflection.

“Ah, fuck, Christ, that’s good, that feels so good,” he grunts, and Castiel has to wonder if he’s always this vocal pleasuring himself, or if he’s got a specific fantasy in his head that he’s thinking of.

Dean’s eyes are still closed when his right hand curls underneath him, fingers shiny and slick, to press against his asshole. With hardly any time between breaths, he’s got first one, then two fingers shoved inside himself to the knuckle, his other hand squeezing tightly around his cock.

Castiel himself is harder than he can remember being in some time, wants to stroke himself off while watching Dean, but he can’t even bring himself to tear away his eyes, let alone spare the concentration to remove his clothing.

Instead, he stands completely still, eyes soaking up the scene in front of him as Dean gets himself off, loudly and enthusiastically. It’s over fairly quickly, but Castiel isn’t sure how long it’s been since he started watching, let alone when Dean actually started masturbating. Still, the sight of Dean, boneless with satiation is almost as lovely a sight as Dean in the throes of pleasure.

The last thing he sees, before the mirror once again fogs, is Dean’s bright green eyes staring back at him, wide with shock.

Castiel spends the next three days waffling between wanting to find Dean and confront him (apologize for accidentally invading his privacy—and getting off on his memory every night since) and wanting to sell or return the mirror to Mary Winchester’s Antiques Shop. By Saturday, he still hasn’t made a decision.

The choice is taken out of his hands when Dean arrives on his front porch early Saturday afternoon.

Castiel hadn’t left his house, had only barely managed to shower and eat breakfast. His scruff had started to form an actual beard (he was too afraid to shave in case it summoned Dean, which seemed moot with the very man standing in his doorway).

“Heya, Cast-eel,” he says. There’s a line of concentration at his brow and an awkwardness to the way he holds himself that Castiel hadn’t imagined he’d get to see, ever. He’s relieved to not be the only awkward party here.

“My name is Castiel.”

“Oh, sorry, my name’s Dean.”

“Hello, Dean.” He’s not going to mention that he already knew that. “Would you like to come inside?” He’s vaguely aware that his elderly neighbor (whose dog is small and seemingly never stops barking) is staring out of her living room window at them, probably making a few widely incorrect assumptions.

Probably a few that Castiel wishes were true, too.

“Sure,” Dean says, and Castiel leads him into the unit, further into the living room. His home is small, but well-decorated, thanks to Anna. He also has several pictures on the walls, and knick-knacks on his shelves, thanks to Gabriel. “Nice place.”

“Thank you. Would you like something to drink?”

Dean frowns, and Castiel takes that as a ‘no’, seating himself on a bar stool. “How are you being so calm about this?”

Castiel barks a sharp laugh, which seems to throw Dean off even more. “Apologies, but how exactly does one usually act under these circumstances?” Dean scoffs, shrugs, then joins him on a stool. “Also, I should apologize for the other night. I did not mean to see… what I saw.”

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s fine. Not like you were doing it on purpose.”

Castiel blushes, remembering the nights he’s spent very purposefully remembering everything he’d seen. “I believe I understand how the mirror works, now, at any rate.”

Dean cocks his head. “You figured it out?”

Castiel nods. “It seems to respond to the presence of blood. I cut myself shaving, and then I had a papercut. Each time, you appeared in my mirror.”

Dean smiles, a slow, predatory thing. “You’ve seen me more than once, then? See anything you like, Cas? ‘Cause you seemed pretty focused when I caught ya peepin’.”

Castiel didn’t know it was possible to blush this hard. “I could ask the same question. You’re the one who appeared on my doorstep. How did you find me, anyway?”

“My mom sold you that mirror. It’s identical to mine.”

“I see. So you tracked me down through her.”

“Yep.” Dean’s grin stays present, relaxing into a genuine smile. “Hope you don’t mind. I just wanted to meet the man in the mirror, s’all.”

Castiel smiles as well, intrigued despite himself. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

Dean’s eyebrow arches; his teeth are distractingly white. “Tonight?”

Castiel swallows; his voice sounds even rougher than usual when he replies, “Yes.”

“Sure thing, Cas,” he says. “I’d love to.”

Castiel will eventually have to figure out how to get Dean to sing for him again. He’s looking forward to the experience.

The mirrors can stay.


End file.
